


C is for Cookie and Carlton... and Concussion

by DinerGuy



Category: Psych
Genre: Cookies, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinerGuy/pseuds/DinerGuy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slip of the tongue leads to the weirdest bet Carlton Lassiter has ever made in his life. Of course, our favorite head detective has never been one to back down from a challenge, even when things keep going wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	C is for Cookie and Carlton... and Concussion

**Author's Note:**

> Psych does not belong to me, nor to my lovely cowriter, Kkarrie. Just playing for fun! We do own Erna, however, and we love her dearly.

Lassiter could hear Spencer and Guster before they had even started up the stairs to the bullpen. The two friends were engaged in a heated argument and per usual were looking for someone to settle it for them.  
  
“Juuuules!” Shawn called out before the friends even reached the detectives’ desks. “Tell Gus that I can too bake.”  
  
Gus crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Shawn, I never said you couldn’t bake. I said you couldn’t bake well. There’s a difference.”  
  
“Hey, where is Jules?” Shawn asked, ignoring his friend’s comment as he looked around the station.  
  
Lassiter sighed and resigned himself to getting involved since his partner wasn’t there. “She stepped out for a- Spencer, she is not under her desk,” Lassiter growled, standing up before the psychic knocked something over.  
  
“Well I didn’t know,” Shawn defended himself, straightening. “Don’t tell me you don’t hide under your own desk when things get too stressful.”  
  
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “I most certainly do not. And O’Hara went to get coffee, if you must know.” He sat down again and focused on his reports.  
  
“Oh,” Shawn looking thoughtful. He pulled Gus off to the side and they had one of their whispered arguments. Then they turned back to Lassiter. Shawn elbowed Gus and his friend glared at him but spoke up.  
  
“Lassiter, since Juliet isn’t here to settle the argument, will you?” He didn’t sound very excited about asking Lassiter to help.  
  
“I have better things to do with my time than mediate squabbles between you two overgrown children.” Lassiter didn’t even look up from his computer screen.  
  
Shawn leaned over to Gus. “He’s just jealous because he can’t bake.”  
  
At that, Lassiter did look up from his screen. "If I can't bake, Spencer, why did I win the Christmas cookie competition in the sixth grade?"  
  
"Because your mom helped you."  
  
Gus snorted in laughter.  
  
Lassiter rolled his eyes. “Spencer, quit with the malarky. My mother did not help me with my entry, nor did she help me with any of my assignments in home economics which I passed with flying colors...” Lassiter trailed off but the damage had already been done.  
  
“You took Home Ec? You? The head detective who keeps five spare guns in his apartment and shoots cats?” Shawn laughed.  
  
“I only discharge my weapon at cats if they approach in a threatening manner or refuse to stop upon my command,” Lassiter snapped.  
  
“Okay, okay,” Shawn held up both hands. “But the billion dollar question is if you can actually beat me at baking.”  
  
“Can I-” Lassiter snorted. “I could beat you with my eyes closed.”  
  
Shawn looked at Gus. “Lassie is just putting on a solitaire face, Gus. He can’t really bake.”  
  
“Uh, you mean poker face, Shawn.” Gus looked reluctant to get involved.  
  
“I’ve heard it both ways,” Shawn waved him off. “Then is it settled?”  
  
“Nothing to settle,” Lassiter scoffed. “But if you insist, then fine. You and I will both bring homemade cookies tomorrow and let the others judge.”  
  
“Okay, your loss,” Shawn shrugged. “Gus, let’s go! I need to get started on my masterpiece!” He rubbed his hands together and hurried towards the door. “Don’t worry, Lassie; I won’t make a big deal when mine beat yours!” he called over his shoulder as he left.  
  
“Where are they going?”Juliet asked, arriving back at her desk just as the duo disappeared around a corner. “Didn’t they just get here?”  
  
Lassiter grunted. “Spencer seems to think he can bake cookies that are worth ingesting and is planning to prove it.”  
  
“And by ‘beat yours’ he meant...?” Juliet prompted, waiting for her partner to clue her in.    
  
“It’s a challenge on who can make the best cookies,” Lassiter shrugged.  
  
“You two are having a bake off?” She looked at her partner in exasperation.  
  
“If you can call it that,” Lassiter replied, flipping a page in the file in front of him. “He’s just setting himself up for disappointment, that’s all. Now can we actually get some work done today before I have to go home and spend my night in the kitchen?”  
  
Juliet shook her head and tried to hide her smile as she went back to her paperwork. She knew her partner was competitive, but she hadn’t thought he’d actually compete against Shawn in something like cooking.  
  
“Does Spencer even have a kitchen?” Lassiter looked up from his work after a few minutes of silence. “I thought the last time he baked something, it was in a child’s toy.”  
  
“I don’t think he owns more than a microwave in his apartment...” Juliet trailed off and then frowned. “If he thinks he’s going to use my brand new Kitchen Aid, he has another thought coming!” She grabbed her jacket and cell phone. “I’ll get back to the reports tomorrow, partner.” With that she was out the door.  
  
Lassiter looked around as she left. If she was leaving, then why couldn’t he? There was no way he was going to let Spencer get a head start on the baking.

* * *

Armed with a dozen eggs, flour, sugar, butter, and a big bag of chocolate chips, Lassiter was all set to start baking. He used his foot to push open the door to his building, as his hands were currently occupied with five heavy plastic bags. He headed for the elevator and managed to hit the button with his elbow as he concentrated on not dropping any of the bags. It was only after he had waited for several minutes that he saw the handwritten sign that proclaimed the elevator was down for repairs plastered above his head.  
  
Lassiter glanced around, as if expecting Spencer or Guster to be laughing from behind one of the lobby’s potted plants. Neither man was anywhere to be seen, however. Rolling his eyes, Lassiter headed for the stairs. He refused to leave any of the bags in the lobby; there was no telling what could happen to them if left unattended, and there was no way he was going back to the store when they got stolen. He shifted the bags in his hands and prepared himself for the five story climb.  
  
He made it up three flights before he had to stop and shift the bags again. The flour and sugar were in the same bag, and Lassiter was beginning to think that the cashier had a personal grudge against him. She had looked familiar; maybe he had arrested her before.  
  
Shaking his head and muttering under his breath about homicidal college students and their part time jobs, Lassiter started up the stairs again. He slipped on the fourth step up and caught himself, pausing to let the adrenaline course through his system. He gave a nervous laugh and shook his head. There was no way he was going to lose to Spencer before he’d even preheated the oven. He steadied himself and headed up again.  
  
On the very top step, his foot slipped again. This time, Lassiter was unable to stop his fall. He tumbled all the way down to the landing, feeling the sharp impact of each stair’s edge as he hit them. The flour bag burst and in the cloud of white Lassiter heard two sounds. The first was that of every single one of his dozen eggs breaking, and the second was the unmistakable noise of a bone breaking.  
  
Those sounds were immediately followed by a sharp pain radiating up his left leg. He had just enough time to turn his head and see the wall coming at him fast before he smacked into it.  
  
Lassiter wasn’t sure how long he lay on the carpet. He didn’t black out from hitting the wall... at least he didn’t think he had. His leg was killing him and based on the weird angle, it was broken. He growled in frustration. Of course he would break his leg tonight. It was almost as if Spencer was conspiring to keep him out of his own kitchen.  
  
Thankfully his cellphone was in one piece and if Lassiter concentrated hard enough he could scroll through his contacts. His vision was a bit blurred but he managed to find McNab’s home number and hit the call button.  
  
“McNab residence, Buzz speaking,” the rookie’s cheerful voice came over the phone after the second ring.  
  
“McNab!” Lassiter snapped, his irritation and pain taking over. “I need you at my condo ASAP.”  
  
“Detective Lassiter?” Buzz sounded confused.  
  
“I had an issue and I need you to drive me to the hospital.” Lassiter gritted his teeth as he accidently bumped his leg.  
  
“Shouldn’t you call 911?” At least the rookie had the decency to sound more worried than confused at this point.  
  
“I have better things to do tonight than wait around for a bunch of snot nosed EMTs to poke and prod me before charging me for an ambulance ride I don’t need. Get down here now or I swear I will put you on night patrols for the rest of your career,” Lassiter threatened. He hung up the phone and tried to prop himself up against the wall without jostling his leg too much. He would have to get a splint for his leg, then have McNab take him to the store and buy him more flour and eggs for his cookies.  
  
“Well, don’t you look a sight,” a new voice scolded him from up the stairs.  
  
Lassiter looked up to see his elderly neighbor from 519 standing at the top of the steps. Her arms were crossed and she was looking at him with a mixture of concern and amusement.  
  
“Erna,” Lassiter tried to sound casual, as if lying on the landing between the third and fourth floors, covered in flour was normal.  
  
“If Mr. Reynolds wants to continue to have me as a tenant, he will fix that elevator,” Erna made her way down the stairs to where Lassiter was. She stepped carefully to avoid broken eggs and spilled flour.  
  
“I already plan on complaining,” Lassiter assured her, trying to move himself into a more dignified position.  
  
“Now, Carlton,” Erna had gotten to the landing and was assessing his condition. “It would appear to me that you were going to attempt some baking, but that broken leg is going to put a damper on that.”  
  
“It’s not broken,” Lassiter protested.  
  
“I didn’t spend forty years working in an elementary school to not recognize a broken bone when I see one.” She bent to examine his injuries.  
  
“I didn’t know you were a nurse,” Lassiter hissed as she prodded his leg.  
  
“I wasn’t,” Erna shrugged. “I was the lunch lady. Now, did you call someone already or do I need to go get the car and drive you to the hospital?” she asked, moving from checking his leg to brushing the flour from Lassiter’s hair.  
  
If it wouldn’t have hurt so badly, Lassiter would have jerked away from the motherly gesture. “I called someone,” he told her.  
  
“Someone that will be here?” Erna looked around. “Well, you can call them from the car and tell them you already have help.”  
  
“Erna, you don’t have to-” Lassiter started to object.  
  
“Don’t you Erna me,” she cut him off, “you can repay me when I slip on the ice this winter and break a hip.”  
  
“We live in Santa Barbara,” Lassiter gave her a confused look.  
  
“Don’t tell me you buy all this global warming nonsense.” She shot him a look. “It’s going to be a tough winter, I can feel it in my bones. Now,” she continued, “let me go pull the car up to the door and then I’ll come get you.” She dusted her hands off and started down the stairs. “Don’t go anywhere,” she winked at him.  
  
Lassiter watched her leave. He wasn’t completely sure what had just happened, but he thought he might have been conned into letting his 75 year old neighbor take him to the hospital.  
  
Lassiter had timed the walk from the parking lot of his building to the front door of his condo, and allowing for Erna’s slower pace and subtracting the distance from the landing to the fifth floor, Lassiter was beginning to wonder what had happened to the woman when he heard voices coming up the stairs.  
  
“You can’t be married!” Erna was climbing the stairs arm in arm with Officer McNab. “The little Busby I knew swore he was never even going to ask a girl out.”  
  
“Things change, Mrs. Greenway,” McNab was actually blushing. “I actually married Francine Withers.”  
  
“She was always such a smart girl,” Erna gave his arm a pat. “And Buzz, you can call me Erna. It’s been a few years.”  
  
“Speaking of a few years,” Lassiter snapped. “It took you long enough, McNab. What if I have internal bleeding?”  
  
“Stop that right now, Carlton,” Erna scolded him. “You don’t have internal bleeding, just a few bruises and a broken leg. I ran into Busby on the way in and he was more than willing to help out.”  
  
“Detective Lassiter called me,” Buzz explained.  
  
“Yes, he’s my help, now let’s get going to the hospital.” Lassiter let McNab hoist him off the ground, gritting his teeth against the pain.  
  
A few minutes later, Erna helped Buzz get Lassiter settled in the back of the patrol car, despite Lassiter’s protests that head detectives didn’t sit in the back of patrol cars, that was for psychics and criminals.  
  
“That boy makes more fuss about the silliest things,” she shook her head as Buzz shut the door. “Call me if you need me to go down to the hospital and make him sit through all the tests.”  
  
“Will do, ma’am,” Buzz nodded.

* * *

It had taken almost three hours from the time they stumbled into the ER to the time Buzz finally helped Lassiter back in the car, this time into the front seat as the crutches occupied the back seat.  
  
“McNab,” Lassiter’s words were slightly slurred due to the dose of painkillers the doctors had given him just in case it took a while to get his prescription filled that late at night. “Three things;” he held up five fingers at the rookie as Buzz pulled the car out onto the street.  
  
“Yes, sir?” Buzz just wanted to drop Lassiter off at his condo and then head home to Francie, but he had promised the hospital staff he would watch the detective for the first night.  
  
“One, the hospital took my pants and gave me these,” he looked down in disdain at the blue scrub pants he had been forced to wear. “Secondly, I make really good cookies,” Lassiter listed off his first two items. “D, I need to get more eggs, butter and flour at the store.”  
  
“Do you think cooking is a good idea?” Buzz asked, ignoring Lassiter’s counting.  
  
“Don’t tell me what to think; I have a bet with Spencer and I need to win.” Lassiter frowned at him. “There’s a grocery store on the way home.”  
  
Buzz gave Lassiter a doubtful look. “Are you sure, sir? The doctor did say to rest.”  
  
“McNab, I told you we need to stop at the store,” Lassiter repeated, pounding his fist emphatically on the armrest. “And that was an order.”  
  
Buzz’s mother had once told him that sometimes the path of least resistance was the best choice and it was times like this he was inclined to agree with her. “Okay,” he nodded reluctantly. “But can I convince you to at least stay in the car while I go in?”  
  
“I was going to anyway,” Lassiter crossed his arms defensively. “I won’t move very fast on my crutches and time is of the essence.”  
  
Buzz waited until he got out of the car to roll his eyes. A drugged Lassiter was a whole lot like an overgrown four year old. He had gotten barely two steps away from the car when he phone rang. “Yes, sir?” He looked back to Lassiter in the car, cringing at the thought that the eye roll might have been witnessed.  
  
“Don’t get any of that weird fake butter,” Lassiter snapped. “I can believe it’s not butter, got it?”  
  
“Got it,” Buzz sighed in relief. “Give me a few minutes.” He hung up and ran for the door.

* * *

Buzz could actually feel the stress easing away slightly when the two policemen finally got back to Lassiter’s building. The detective had been giving him orders on how to drive the entire way home. Buzz was beginning to wonder just how the painkillers were affecting the detective, because Lassiter kept telling McNab not to drive into the lake. Buzz had no intention of driving into the lake and besides, there wasn’t even a lake between the store and the condo.  
  
“Here we are.” Buzz shut off the car and went around to get Lassiter’s crutches from the backseat.  
  
It was awkward getting out of the car, but Lassiter managed to avoid falling or breaking anything further. He slowly made his way towards the door. Out of habit he glanced up to the windows of his living room. He stopped, midway up the curb.  
  
“What is it, sir?” Buzz asked.  
  
“My lights are on,” Lassiter said slowly.  
  
“And nobody’s home?” Buzz finished.  
  
Lassiter glared at him.  
  
“I mean it; no one is home at your condo because we’re both here,” Buzz backtracked.  
  
“Just watch your lip,” Lassiter grumbled. “Now get out your gun; unfortunately I’m not a very quick draw with these crutches. We need to be prepared.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” Buzz checked his weapon as they stepped up onto the sidewalk in front of the building.  
  
When they entered the lobby, Lassiter almost felt like giving up right then and there. He had completely forgotten about the broken elevator that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.  
  
Buzz had noticed the sign as well, and he looked between the broken elevator and the cast on Lassiter’s leg.  
  
“My mother told me to never be a quitter,” Lassiter said, adjusting the crutches under his arms. “Although she might have been talking about my flute lessons.”  
  
“Flute lessons?” Buzz raised his eyebrows.  
  
“I mean,” Lassiter faltered. “I mean, let’s get going, I have lots of cookies to make.”  
  
It was a long, slow trip up the stairs, punctuated by multiple stops, although they were only because Buzz insisted. When the duo finally reached Lassiter’s floor, the detective put out a crutch and stopped McNab from going near his door.  
  
“The door is ajar,” Lassiter whispered. “Get your gun, McNab.”  
  
“Carlton Lassiter, you stop your paranoia and get in here before you break your other leg!” Erna’s voice carried into the hall.  
  
“Hearing like a bat,” Buzz murmured to Lassiter.  
  
“Meddling old lady,” Lassiter grumbled.  
  
“You boys aren’t going to stand out there all night, are you?” Erna asked. “This meddling old lady is pretty sure the doctor told you to rest, and standing out in the hallway is most certainly not following those orders.”  
  
Lassiter rolled his eyes and looked at Buzz, who shrugged and headed inside the condo.  
  
Erna was sitting on Lassiter’s sofa, knitting a scarf. “I put extra pillows on your ottoman to keep your leg level.”  
  
“Where did you find extra pillows?” Lassiter narrowed his eyes.  
  
“In a linen closet like a normal person.” Erna put down her knitting and raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
“How did you get in here?” Lassiter tried to sit down without being too ungraceful about it.  
  
“I had your keys from when you fell earlier; I thought I might as well help you get settled.” Erna shrugged. “I didn’t know you were going to be making another stop.” She raised an eyebrow at the grocery bags.  
  
Lassiter had almost forgotten about the bet. “I have cookies to make,” he grumbled, getting up out of the chair and hobbling over to the kitchen. He pushed past McNab. “Excuse me, the mixer is in here.” He tried to bend and open one of the lower cabinets but stopped before he completely toppled over. “McNab, get me the mixer.”  
  
Buzz gave Erna a worried look.  
  
The older woman just threw her hands in the air. “If he wants to be stubborn, there’s nothing we can do about it.” She settled herself on the sofa again and resumed knitting. “Come on, Busby, you can catch me up on the rest of your life since the fourth grade.”  
  
“There’s been a lot!” Buzz excitedly said, putting the mixer on the counter and heading for the couch. “Did I tell you about the time I busted a diamond smuggling ring?”  
  
“Really now?” Erna looked surprised. “I hope you weren’t in too much danger.”  
  
Lassiter tuned out the conversation and focused on mixing up a batch of cookie dough. He knew his mother’s chocolate chip cookie recipe by heart and he started hobbling around the kitchen, grabbing measuring cups and ingredients he would need. It was a bit of a challenge with crutches, but he managed to finally gather everything in one place.  
  
He then set the crutches aside and leaned against the counter, putting his weight on his good leg as he started measuring ingredients into the bowl.  
  
Buzz was having such a good time catching up with Mrs. Greenway that he practically forgot about Lassiter - that was until Lassiter started yelling at the oven.  
  
“Sweet Lady Justice!” Lassiter was staring at the cookies baking in the oven. “They’ve run all over the place. They’re going to burn before they cook through!”  
  
Buzz was impressed that Lassiter managed to pull the cookie sheet from the oven without falling over. “Should we offer to help?” he asked Erna, his voice full of concern.  
  
“Carlton is like a five year old,” Erna said patiently as she knitted. “You can offer to help, but he’ll keep doing it his way until he hurts himself or he falls asleep.”  
  
“Which one is going to happen first?” Buzz watched Lassiter dump the cookie dough into the trash can and then start measuring ingredients again.  
  
“I just forgot the flour,” Lassiter said loudly. “It’s Spencer; he’s getting to me.” He made sure to put the flour in the bowl first and then double-checked all the ingredients on the counter to make sure he had them all.  
  
“Well, he’s already hurt himself,” Erna replied. “So let’s hope he just falls asleep before he does much more damage.”  
  
Buzz nodded in agreement. “I can’t think of what else he could break.”  
  
As if on cue, the sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen.  
  
There was muffled swearing and then Lassiter’s voice carried into the living room again. “Everything’s fine! The bowl just slipped. McNab, get me the broom from the closet.”  
  
“Carlton,” Erna got up when the other man went to find the broom. “While Buzz gets this cleaned up, why don’t you lie down? There’s nothing you need to help out with.”  
  
“I suppose,” Lassiter’s head did hurt and his leg was starting to throb. He probably would have to take another dose of pain medication.  
  
“Just this way,” Erna led him down the hall and had him sit on his bed. She took his crutches and leaned them against the wall.  
  
“They took my pants,” Lassiter grumbled as he tugged off his tie. He was definitely going to be requesting a reimbursement in the morning.  
  
“They had blood on them,” Erna said simply. “I’ll go check on the kitchen. Just lie down.”  
  
Lassiter tried to argue more, but his bed was pretty comfortable. It had been totally worth it to splurge on the memory foam mattress. He would just lie down for a few minutes, to clear his head. But only for ten at the most, because he had cookies to bake.

* * *

 

Lassiter’s alarm went off at six-thirty the next morning. The detective shot up in bed, wincing as his whole body protested. He slammed a hand down on the snooze button and then tried to figure out why he hurt so badly. He slowly opened one eye and saw the crutches leaning against the wall.  
  
The memory of his bet with Spencer came back to him along with the recollection of his tumble down the staircase.  
  
Moving as fast as his aching body would allow, Lassiter headed for the kitchen. He would have to resort to the no-bake cookie recipe in order to get them done before work, but he knew any of his cookies would easily best Spencer’s.  
  
He vaguely remembered burning his first batch of cookies and he was pretty sure he was going to have to replace his large glass mixing bowl. He entered the kitchen to see Erna seated at his counter, a mug of coffee in front of her.  
  
“Good morning, Carlton,” Erna smiled brightly. “I thought you might be getting up soon. I have coffee brewing, and if you wait another ten minutes, there will be pecan rolls.”  
  
Lassiter was sure he was still asleep; this had to be a dream. “Where’s McNab?” He looked around as if the tall rookie would be hiding behind him.  
  
“I sent him home,” Erna replied. “It made no sense for him to spend the entire night here when I live just down the hall and he has such a lovely wife at home.” She checked her watch. “Now go shower and you might have time for a bite to eat before I take you to work.”  
  
“Take me to work?” Lassiter repeated in disbelief.  
  
“You can’t drive with that thing,” Erna pointed at his cast. “Now shoo!” She waved him towards the bathroom with her hands.  
  
It normally would have taken Lassiter exactly fifteen minutes and forty-five seconds to shower, get dressed and be ready for the day. However, having a cast made everything difficult and it was almost a half hour before he was back in the kitchen.  
  
Erna had a mug of coffee and a pecan roll all ready for him. “You have plenty of time to eat.” She fixed a strand of hair that was stubbornly falling in his face. “You need to eat more breakfasts,” she half-scolded him, squeezing his arm, “you’re too thin as it is.”  
  
“You sound like my mother,” Lassiter muttered as he took a bite of the roll.  
  
“And you’re just as stubborn as my son,” Erna told him. “Now eat before that gets cold.”  
  
Lassiter ducked his head and did as he was told. It wasn’t hard; the pecan roll was delicious. He finished his breakfast and downed his coffee.  
  
As they headed out to the hall, Lassiter was never so grateful to see a working elevator in his life. At least now he wouldn’t have to navigate the stairs with his crutches for the next six weeks.  
  
Erna got him settled in the front seat of her car and handed him a foil covered plate to hold in his lap.  
  
“What’s this?” Lassiter hadn’t noticed her carrying it before.  
  
“Just a little something to share with your friends.” Erna started up the car and headed for the station.  
  
“Are these cookies?” Lassiter tried to look under the foil.  
  
“They are. I made them last night while I was cleaning your kitchen.”  
  
“I can’t take your cookies for the bet,” Lassiter protested.  
  
“I think you can say there were extenuating circumstances for the bet,” Erna half-laughed and pulled into the station parking lot. “Now I told Busby to meet us here at seven-thirty and there he is. That boy was always so punctual.”  
  
As if on cue, Buzz hurried up to the vehicle and opened Lassiter’s door. “Good morning, Detective Lassiter,” the officer greeted, helping Lassiter get steady on his crutches before taking the foil-covered plate.  
  
“Thank you, Mrs. Greenway. Francie wants to have you over for dinner sometime.” Buzz waved to the woman.  
  
“That is so sweet of her. Just let me know what works for you. I have more free time than a busy policeman like you.” She waved back and satisfied that Lassiter was in good hands headed for home.  
  
“If anyone asks, I was involved in a foot chase for a suspect in a grocery store robbery,” Lassiter told McNab as they entered the station.  
  
“Yes sir,” Buzz nodded quickly.  
  
It was slow going, but Lassiter made his way up the station steps without slipping on his crutches or having to ask for assistance. He’d barely made it to his desk when O’Hara’s voice met his ears.  
  
“Carlton! What did you do to yourself?” She hurried over from her desk, sounding concerned.  
  
“Fell chasing a suspect,” Lassiter grumbled.  
  
Juliet looked over to Buzz with a doubtful expression.  
  
“He fell down the stairs,” Buzz explained.  
  
“McNab, we had an agreement!” Lassiter yelled.  
  
“Are you okay?” Juliet was by her partner’s side, helping him sit down at his desk before she pulled an extra chair over for him to prop his injured leg on.  
  
“Nothing time won’t heal,” Lassiter was getting flustered with all the attention. First Erna and now O’Hara; it was more motherly care than he’d gotten in the past thirty years.  
  
Again Juliet looked to Buzz for a full explanation.  
  
“Concussion, broken leg, bruised ribs and a few cuts and scrapes,” Buzz listed, standing as far away from Lassiter as he could manage. No telling what the head detective would do.  
  
“Should you even be here?” Juliet frowned and then saw the foil covered plate. “The bet? That’s why you’re here? That stupid cookie bet?”  
  
“Those aren’t mine,” Lassiter grumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at the plate on his desk. “My neighbor lady gave them to me to bring. I’ll have to forfeit the bet.”  
  
“Lassidoodle!” Spencer’s voice carried through the station. “Time to taste test and pay up.”  
  
“You didn’t bet money,” Gus reminded his friend as the two of them came over to Lassiter’s desk.  
  
“Well, maybe I should have.” Shawn stopped short and raised his eyebrows when he saw the cast. “Whoa, Lassie. Did you lose a fight with a drunk penguin? I hear they fight dirty.”  
  
“For your information, Spencer, I fell.” Lassiter left out the stairs and the flour and the eggs. No one needed to know about that.  
  
“You fell, broke your leg and still had time to make cookies?” Gus peeked under the foil at the chocolate chip cookies.  
  
“Those are from Mrs. Greenway,” Buzz said proudly.  
  
“You didn’t make them,” Shawn gave Gus a fistbump. “That means you lose and I win!” With a flourish, he presented a plate of cookies from behind his back.  
  
Juliet looked at the plate. “Shawn, those are oreos!”  
  
“No they’re not,” Shawn brushed her comment off. “They’re an old Spencer family recipe going back for generations...” he trailed off as he realized that not even he could believe that story. He sighed. “Fine, if you must know, Gus and I got distracted by Dancing with the Stars last night.”  
  
“You got distracted. I never said I was making cookies,” Gus corrected him, chewing on a bite of cookie. “And these are really good, Lassiter.”  
  
“Agree to disagree,” Shawn returned, giving the cookie in his friend’s hand a sideways look. “At least I didn’t con some old neighbor lady into baking them for me.”  
  
“No, you relied on a factory worker who makes just above minimum wage.” Lassiter could deal with Spencer’s shenanigans, but the moment he dragged Erna into it was the moment Lassiter was done. “You lose the bet, Spencer.”  
  
“And so do you,” Shawn replied.  
  
“Both of you lose!” Juliet exclaimed, bringing their bickering to a halt. “Can we reschedule the bet and get back to work?”  
  
“That seems fair,” Shawn nodded and held out a hand to Lassiter.  
  
“Reschedule it for next month,” Lassiter agreed, shaking Shawn’s hand. “I’ll have my mobility back by then.”  
  
Shawn nodded. “You know...” he gave Lassiter a smirk. “Next month is Christmas.”  
  
“So?” Lassiter looked confused.  
  
“So,” Shawn continued like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We should have a gingerbread house competition.”  
  
“Shawn!” Gus and Juliet chorused.  
  
“You’re on, Spencer,” Lassiter agreed. “Best gingerbread house brought in on the 23rd wins.”  
  
Shawn nodded, then snatched a cookie from the plate on Lassiter’s desk. “C’mon, Gus!” He started for the door. “We need to start on our blueprints now. You think we could engineer a gingerbread elevator?”


End file.
